With Israeli and American air strikes knocking out several of Iran’s best-protected nuclear facilities—Fordow, Natanz, and Isfahan—the news headlines have been filled with speculation about stealth bombers, bunker-busting bombs, and impending radioactive catastrophe. But behind all the military pomp and technical jargon is a deeper narrative—one of global cooperation, the evanescence of peace, and the common human desire for security in an age of nuclear weapons.
Iran’s nuclear facilities aren’t buildings—they’re bunkers. Fordow, say, is hidden deep within a mountain outside Qom, shielded by almost 90 meters of rock and concrete. Natanz, the hub of Iran’s uranium enrichment effort, is equally secure, constructed to hold up to nearly anything less than the most lethal weapons on the planet. As Heather Williams of the Center for Strategic and International Studies explains, the U.S. GBU-57, also known as the “Massive Ordnance Penetrator,” is among the few conventional bombs that could potentially extend that far. And even if so, there’s no telling that it would get the job done in total.
The latest airstrikes were designed to display military power and technological brawn. Former U.S. President Donald Trump declared that B-2 stealth bombers and submarine-fired Tomahawk missiles had been employed to strike the targets, saying the mission was “spectacularly successful.” However, as much of the world watched explosions lighting up the night skies, reports by the IAEA and Iranian leaders assured that there were no leaks of radiation, and no contamination was detected. Iran’s Atomic Energy Organization declared that its nuclear activities would proceed unabated, labeling the airstrikes as mere “hostile conspiracies.
But the threat is much greater than wrecked buildings or incapacitated centrifuges. As IAEA Director General Rafael Grossi underscored, “Nuclear facilities should never be attacked, under any circumstances or context, because it could hurt people and the environment.” This time, a catastrophe was narrowly avoided. But the next time? All it takes is one misestage, one moment of calculation, and the effects could radiate far beyond the borders of Iran—affecting people’s lives, the ecology, and stability in the region in ways that become the hard-to-stop landslide once the dam breaks.
What makes this case particularly complicated is that the issue isn’t only technical—it’s strategic and ethical as well. Israel, with one of the world’s most capable air forces and precision bombs, lacks the brute firepower necessary to ensure the demolition of deeply buried facilities such as Fordow. With or without the GBU-57, even according to analysts speaking with The Wall Street Journal, there can be no guarantees. Previous to such weapons, the only possible recourse would have been nuclear attacks—something still difficult for the world to conceive.
And when brute force doesn’t bring any solid answers, what’s left? Conversation. Diplomacy. Trust. The IAEA has repeatedly called for restraint and renewed negotiations. It has invited all parties to work together instead of working against one another. As the agency has underscored, “The only sustainable path forward—for Iran, for Israel, the region, and the international community—is one grounded in diplomacy and cooperation.”
It’s easy to get bogged down in the specifics—what model jet carried what model bomb—but behind all of that is something less complicated: a shared hope to live in a world where nuclear disasters are not hanging over our heads. The IAEA’s inspectors, scientists, and diplomats are not simply monitoring fuel inventories or calibrating centrifuges. They’re holding a fragile trust that separates peace from chaos. Every diplomatic breakthrough, every deal honored, every sparkle of openness—these are the small victories that add up.
With the dust settling over Iran’s bombed nuclear sites, the world is reminded once again: our greatest strength doesn’t emanate from our missiles, but from our ability to listen, to negotiate, and to build something safer together.